Banter
by Alex L. Kerr
Summary: Clips and pieces of dialogue between Sam & Dean while en route to/from cases in the Impala.
1. Chapter 1

**Writer's Note**: Was playing around with conversation/banter today. These all take place in the Impala en route to one case or another. No idea if it'll have more than one chapter so I'm keeping it as incomplete for now (psst review or comment to let me know if you'd like more chapters!).

Also warning - I drop so many f-bombs in here but it's all quite playful.

Happy reading!

* * *

"Um," Dean squinted out the windshield, thinking about it. Finally, he smiled and glanced at his brother. "I got it."

"'kay," Sam capped his pen and angled to face his brother. "Who?"

"Martha Stewart," Dean announced, knowing he'd won but Sam just laughed.

"Martha Stewart? Really?"

"What? She's crafty," Dean defended.

"Well I give you that she'd be a formidable witch-"

"Ew, no-"

"-But a hunter? Really?"

"Yeah," Dean shrugged. "She'd be resourceful."

"With _glitter_."

"No c'mon she does more than glue glitter to shit," Dean said reasonably.

"Are you really defending Martha Stewart to me right now?"

Dean feigned quiet resentment. He could see Sam grinning in his peripheral vision.

"Actually... didn't she kill a guy?" Sam spoke up after a few beats.

"Oh yeah! Like... with a tractor or something."

They fell into contemplative silence.

"How do you not get out of the way of a tractor?" Sam asked, baffled. Dean gave Sam a wry smile.

"Maybe she had the guy in a Devil's Trap, Sammy," he said. It was a slow build to laughter but they both got there.

* * *

"It's not... God damn it, Sam, it's not psychology-" Dean used air quotes while still keeping his hands on the wheel.

"It's textbook, Dean. You are textbook psychology when it comes to that game," Sam yelled back insistently, trying hard not to crack up.

"There is no fucking textbook in psychology - or any other god damn academic field - on _rock paper scissors_!" Dean shouted, "you piece of bullshit Stanford educated stupid motherfucking piece of shi-"

"Eyes on the road, Dean," Sam snickered.

"Shut up!"

Silence fell except for the sound of Sam's quiet laughter. Hackles raised, Dean gave Sam a double-take.

"Oh you think this is funny, huh?"

"I'm... no... I'm not..."

"Do you?"

"...no..." Sam practically giggled. "I just..."

"If we weren't in the middle of nowhere right now I swear to god I'd kick you out of this car."

"Well."

"Well?"

"Well I'm-"

"Sam," Dean warned.

"... just... glad we're in the middle of nowhere right now."

"Shut the fuck up."

* * *

"By how much do you think you're taller than me?"

Sam shrugged.

"I don't know. Like... five inches."

"No."

"No?"

"No - you wear heels."

"Dean, I don't wear heels," Sam replied seriously.

"You do - it puts like two inches on you."

"Lies. Stop lying," Sam dismissed, leaning over the seat back to grab a sweater and aspirin.

"Take off your shoe and look at it, man."

"No I'm not gonna do that," Sam grunted, reaching to find the small bottle that'd probably gotten stuffed in between the backseat cushions. He lifted a knee up against the seat to push himself further back into the car.

"Dude I am looking at your shoes right now," Dean gestured with his hand at the heel of Sam's shoe.

"I don't care," Sam called back.

Dean gave a double-take at the shoe.

"These your slip-on things?"

"What? Yeah," Sam replied, distracted. Dean grabbed the heel of Sam's shoe and pulled it off in one swift motion. "Dean! What the hell!"

"Look at your fucking shoe, dude," Dean said, waving it in front of him. Sam managed to find the aspirin and struggled backwards to sink back into his seat.

"Give me back my shoe."

"Not until you look at it and tell me I'm right."

"Is this what you do with your time when I'm not around? Just stare at my shoes?" Sam shot back, grabbing it out of Dean's hand and throwing it down into the seat well.

"Shit, you figured me out. Yes, Sam, I just stare at your shoes-"

"Well how the hell else do you know so much about my fucking shoes?!" Sam shot back, feigning annoyance.

"Don't pretend you don't know what my shoes look like."

"I literally do not know what your shoes look like," Sam claimed, lying.

They'd reached an impasse. Signs and pastures flew by as they zoomed to their next destination.

"That's too bad," Dean muttered, "I got some nice fuckin' shoes, Sammy," Dean landed the line.

Still smiling, Sam threw his sweater on.

"Leg still bothering you?" He asked, noticing Dean had had a slight limp before they'd gotten on the road that morning.

"'S manageable."

"Here," Sam said and Dean held out his hand. Sam dropped a couple aspirin into it.

"Thanks," Dean muttered, popping them into his mouth and opening his hand again to receive the water bottle Sam had ready for him.

* * *

"Dean. Hey Dean. Dean. Dean."

"What?" Dean finally replied, his voice dull.

"Dean."

"Sam."

"Y'errr... you have a funny hat."

"No I don't, Sam. I don't own any hats-"

"No you do."

Dean cinched his mouth to the side, thinking about it.

"What's it look like?"

"S'green."

"Like lime green?"

"No!" Sam replied vehemently. "Ssss... is like... ssswirly greens."

"Like sherbert ice cream?" Dean couldn't help a small smile.

"Yes! _Yes_! Oh my god can we get some ice cream, Dean?"

"Yep." Dean ticked the signal to get off at the next exit. He'd seen a Baskin Robbins sign earlier and figured Sam could do with a treat. He felt bad for having pulled him out AMA before the drugs could wear off.

"Uhhh youuu are the best ever," Sam sing-songed and started lilting against the window. Dean pulled him back gently by his shoulder. "Huh?" Sam grunted as if he'd just woken up.

"Stay with me, man. Don't lean on that side - you got stitches."

Sam groggily looked down at his side and slowly pulled his t-shirt up.

"Where the fuck did these stitches come from?" Sam gasped and Dean fought hard to contain his laughter. "Dean!" Sam reprimanded like it was Dean's fault.

"What? I didn't do anything. 'Sides, I'm getting you ice cream, shut up."

"You shut up," Sam replied weakly, still studying the stitches. Dean looked to see what his brother was doing.

"Hey-hey-hey Sammy, come on," he said, pulling Sam's hand up so it'd let go of his t-shirt. Sam was limp; giving in to Dean's gestures. "Come on just ignore it for right now okay?" Dean asked lightly, keeping an arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam leaned in, resting his head against his big brother. Normally Dean would call boundaries but the kid was so out of it...

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulders reassuringly as he drove into the parking lot of the Baskin Robbins.

"Okay how do you feel?"

"'M tired."

"Okay ice cream, another hour we cross state lines, and then we get you into a bed, okay?"

Sam grunted.

"Sammy, y'okay?"

"Yeah D," Sam replied sleepily.

When Dean walked back to the car Sam was back on his side of the seat. He stepped in and handed Sam his ice cream but Sam just stared at him.

"Where's your, like, magicalificent hat?" Sam asked. Dean just laughed and started the car up. He had no idea what Sam was talking about.

* * *

"What do you think is the sexiest profession in the world?"

"I'm assuming sex workers is automatically out otherwise this wouldn't be a very challenging question," Sam deadpanned, looking through the files they'd collected on a case.

"For me, yeah. I'm expecting you're gonna come up with 'librarian' or some shit."

"Hey don't knock the librarian look," Sam replied, still distracted.

"Okay no but seriously."

"Oh seriously? You're asking me seriously what the sexiest profession in the world is?" Sam countered sarcastically.

"Yeah this is serious," Dean confirmed with conviction.

"Okay," Sam huffed, then looked up from the files out to the horizon to give his eyes a break. He sighed. "Uhh... for men or women?"

The car was comically silent for a second, then Dean gave Sam a double-take with his own patented _what the fuck_ expression.

"Got something to tell me, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes, unable to help a smile.

"Shut up."

"No I mean I'm honored-"

"Shut up," Sam laughed. "Um... I don't know. What do you think is the sexiest profession?"

"I've got one in mind but I don't want to sway you."

"I don't think what you find sexy is what I find sexy," Sam said honestly.

"Seriously are you positive you're not coming out to me right now?" Dean asked, making Sam crack back into laughter. He'd walked right into that.

* * *

"How did you _not_ like training? All we did was play with guns and matches and shit-"

"-Oh that's healthy, yeah, a great banner for our childhood: we played with guns and matches 'n shit."

"You liked fireworks," Dean offered pointedly.

"That's... that's not the same thing," Sam hedged.

"How is it not the same thing? It was explosives. We were setting off bombs."

Sam thought about it.

"Yeah but they were pretty bombs," Sam finally said weakly, making Dean laugh.

* * *

Dean slammed the car door shut, his pale, sweaty face the picture of misery. Sam was hunched over the steering wheel, watching his brother solicitously.

"Y'all right?" He asked in an undertone.

"No," Dean groaned, curling in again.

"We'll take the next exit and get a room," Sam said quietly, shifting gears to get back onto the road. He'd pulled over in the emergency lane to let Dean throw up.

"Christ," Dean muttered, his stomach obviously killing him. He shifted over from his curled position to lie his head against the bench seat.

"You want to lie down in the back?" Sam asked.

"No. I don' wanna move," Dean grunted, clutching his stomach. Sam winced in sympathy and patted Dean's shoulder. He glanced at the seat back and realized there were a couple blankets in easy reach. He grabbed one and put it next to him halfway on and off his thigh.

"Here - stretch out if you want," Sam murmured. Dean ticked his head up for a second to see the makeshift pillow and without protest just scooted further along the seat until he reached where Sam had bunched the blanket up on his leg.

"Are you cold?" Sam asked gently but had already started feeling Dean's forehead and arms to gauge his body temperature.

"Uh... stop," Dean moaned but he didn't bat his brother away. Two seconds later he felt a blanket flop onto him. Sam used his free hand to unfold the thing and spread it across Dean's body as he drove.

"We'll find a place soon, D," Sam promised, letting his arm rest along Dean's side over the covers.

Okay," Dean replied lamely.

* * *

"You packed the weapons right?"

"Yeah."

"Why'd you put them in the backseat?"

"What?"

"I didn't see them in the trunk."

"...I didn't load them into the car."

The car screeched to a halt on the emergency lane. Dean swiveled around to Sam.

"_What_?"

"You fucking kidding me?"

"Are _you_?!"

"Dude packing and loading are two different tasks."

"Sam, no. They're the same task. What the fuck did you do - just... just pack the weapons and leave them in the room?"

"Yeah I thought you were gonna load them later."

"Why?!"

"Because... I don't know... you were the last one to finish packing so I thought you'd load everything up when you were done..."

"Where the fuck did you leave it?"

"In... in..." Sam thought about it, his defense sinking, "in the closet where we normally keep it."

"And you thought I'd just see an empty room with all your shit packed up and loaded and assume that, for some reason, my idiot brother _who_ _I saw_ _packing the weapons bag_ had just... left the bag in the closet when he was done?!"

Sam cringed.

"_How the fuck did you get into Stanford, Sam?!_"

"Hey, no, c'mon, I didn't-"

"You better hope to God the cleaning staff hasn't found it yet-"

"Well."

"Well what?"

"Well I mean we're in this together. They know we both stayed there."

"Thanks, Sam. Real helpful."

"No c'mon we'll just say..."

"What? What could we possibly say to cover this?"

"I... That... We're... part of some kind of Renaissance... fair..." Sam trailed off half-heartedly.

The words "renaissance fair" hung over them as Dean floored it. Finally Dean spoke up.

"Yeah I don't think they're gonna buy that," he said lowly, seething.

Sam licked his lips and tried not to smile. Dean glanced at his brother.

"S'not funny."

"It's a little-"

"No."

* * *

**Writer's Note: **Thank you so much for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


	2. Chapter 2

**Writer's Note:**Hey so here's a second installment of snippets. I swear I'm working on Trialculosis Sam but... honestly I keep writing these 1k-long scenes taking off from the last chapter & none of them had really gotten me going yet. It'll happen though - rest assured, I _am_ working on it. In the mean time here's some lighter fare!

* * *

"Where am I turning off dude? Here?"

"Uh... uh yeah... I think... yeah _here_-turn off _here_, Dean!" Sam yelled, pointing across Dean's face to a small, quaint, and barely visible road to their left. Annoyed, Dean slapped Sam's hand back to his side.

"I got it dude," he muttered, turning in smoothly. They passed several residential homes, the essence of suburbia replete with cobblestone streets. The rumble of the Impala's engine was no longer steady as every ancient brick that paved the street jolted the vintage beauty. Sam could hear the weapons in the back shuddering and clinking. He sincerely hoped Dean had secured everything before they'd headed out.

Dean turned the radio off, annoyed that the car's jolts and bumps from potholes and cracks were causing static and sound outages over the console's speakers.

Silence reigned as the two brothers bounced on the bench seat. Sam grabbed a bottle of water but thought better of it as his hand jerked with the terrain when he tried to unscrew the cap. This was getting old real fast.

It was dusk. Depth perception and visibility was low so when they hit a dip in the street without slowing down the Impala's undercarriage got tagged... loudly.

But not as loudly as Dean's sharp gasp as if he himself had just been dealt a heavy blow.

"Fucking cobblestone-" Sam started mumbling when Dean unleashed.

"Fucking _hate_ _cobblestone_!" He yelled, gripping the steering wheel tighter and showing down. "God _damn_ it!" He added for good measure and Sam started to laugh.

* * *

Dean angled to check whether the cashier was hot. She was, so as he shifted into park at the pump he gave a cursory glance around the car before querying Sam.

"Hey you got any gum on you?"

"What'd you forget to brush your teeth this morning?" Sam asked absently, not missing a beat as he squinted out the windshield.

"No," Dean replied bluntly, waiting on his brother to find gum. Sam started patting himself down to find the pack of gum, still trying to figure out what the sign said up ahead beyond the station. "I was in the bathroom," Dean continued innocently, "_somebody_ forgot to flush this morning."

Sam turned to look at his brother, grimacing in disgust while still looking for the gum in one of his pockets.

"Ew no I didn't-"

"You did. You'd'a gifted the cleaning ladies shit if I hadn't been there _brushing my teeth_ after you."

Disturbed, Sam finally found the pack of mint flavored gum.

"I'm going to buy Juicy Fruit next time so you can go hit on gas station attendants smelling like bubble gum," Sam retaliated lamely, handing the pack to his brother. Dean grinned and popped one into his mouth before exiting the car.

Sam sighed and got out to stretch his legs. Dean stayed near the pump, waiting for it to finish before he went to go pay. After a quick walk around the station Sam came back to the car and slid into the driver's seat. It was mid-morning, the sunlight's glare seeped into his eyes and he let out a leisurely yawn before glancing around the car for his sunglasses.

A few minutes later Dean came around to the passenger seat and got in.

"Hey have you seen my sunglasses?" Sam asked, confused that he still couldn't find them.

"What?"

"My sunglasses."

"Oh here," Dean took off his sunglasses and handed them to Sam. Sam held them, a look of judgement crossing his face.

"These are _your_ sunglasses," he said, ticking them at his brother, "Where're mine?"

Dean had settled into the passenger seat and closed his eyes. He cracked them open to slits and shrugged.

"I don't know. Just use mine. I'm gonna be sleeping anyway."

"No dude... My sunglasses are _nice_."

"My sunglasses are nice," Dean shot back defensively. Sam made a face and looked at the lenses.

"They're scratched."

"Well excuse me, your highness-"

"Dude mine were Oakley's. Seriously-"

"-What the hell are Oakleys?"

"-did you do anything with them?"

"No. No I didn't do anything with your _Oakleys_," Dean mocked his last word with exaggerated gravitas.

Sam and Dean had a staring stand-off before Sam ruled Dean's claims honest. Sam might have packed them by accident... more likely he'd accidentally left them behind in their motel room though.

"Shit," Sam whispered vehemently, jamming Dean's sunglasses onto his face and shifting the car into drive. They started pulling out and Dean sank back against the door and the seat.

"I thought Ray Bans were the nicest sunglasses," Dean mumbled clearly, his eyes closed.

"They're not," Sam replied glibly, his lips pursed in irritation, annoyed with himself. Dean's brows lifted as he shook his head comically, mouthing "okay," given Sam's touchy attitude. Sam gave his brother a double-take, then stared back out onto the road. Dean could see the edge of his brother's lip turn up slightly.

"You just think that because of the movie MIB," he quipped.

Sam expected a fast retaliation but when none came he relaxed a millisecond before Dean's foot slammed against his thigh.

"Ow," Sam laughed, trying to get Dean's foot off him.

* * *

"How sleepy are you?"

"I'm not sleepy I'm tired."

"What's the difference?"

"You make it sound like I'm four years old."

"Well you look four years old when you're tired."

"Really?" Sam shot back, grouchy.

"Yeah."

"Well that's impressive because you look like you're eighty when you're tired."

* * *

Sam used one hand to rub his eyes, forefinger and thumb lightly sliding against each socket. He'd gotten drunk with his brother last night but ended up walking back to their motel room alone. Dean had sauntered in around eight-thirty that morning sporting coffee, a Cheshire grin, and the unconscious leftover affect of winking.

If Sam hadn't seen his brother in years he'd still be able to know when Dean had gotten laid the night before by how often he winked the following day. Definitely one of those things Sam wished he didn't know.

He sighed, impatient in the passenger seat, waiting for Dean to get his peppy afterglowing shit together. The driver's door cranked open and slammed shut quickly and Dean settled himself into the seat.

"Okay," Dean dragged the word out cheerfully, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. "Where to?"

"Birmingham," muttered, hung over.

"Yeah but like what direction?"

"Uh..." Sam shifted and looked around. "Left - highway marker's a few blocks down."

Dean nodded, turned the engine over, and they were off.

"We're going east on the highway."

"I knew that."

"How was... uh... Natalie-?"

"Nadine," Dean corrected, relishing the name of his beautiful one-night stand.

"Uh huh. How many STDs you think you got this time?" Sam jabbed dully.

"What?" Dean glanced at his brother and Sam raised his eyebrows. "She wants to be a vet - she takes night classes at the community college."

Sam snorted skeptically, rolling his eyes.

"Oh what? Judgmental of community college, you drop-out?"

"I dropped out of _Stanford_-"

"What, that makes you so much better?"

"No," Sam answered instantly. That wasn't what he meant. "Just... I don't know. One-night stand from a dude she met at_ Joe Husker's Bar & Grill_-"

"You think she's got issues?" Dean lured.

"Well yeah," Sam answered honestly.

"And you don't?"

Sam rolled his eyes again and shrugged.

"We all got issues, man. Lighten up."

Sam sighed and looked out the window, thinking the conversation was over.

"You hearing me?"

"What?"

"Lighten up."

"Yeah okay I get it."

"Yeah but I really mean it," Dean said, suddenly sounding a lot less argumentative and a lot more concerned. He looked at Sam pointedly and Sam made a face back at him before Dean had to turn back to watch the road. "You've been all nasty and shit for the past week now."

"No I haven't-" Sam started, acting like the accusation was preposterous even though he had to admit it... wasn't.

"Yeah, dude. I don't know what's going on with you but you've been acting like a dick... so... stop it," Dean replied, sounding genuine. It cut through Sam's defenses. Suddenly he felt all of fourteen years old again. His big brother telling him to be more respectful.

"I'm not a dick," Sam murmured sullenly but he had to give it to his brother that he had been feeling bitter lately. He wasn't entirely sure where it'd come from; he'd just started finding snarky judgement and sarcasm particularly enjoyable to dole out recently.

"I know. So don't act like one," Dean said openly, his tone fair and even.

Sam huffed, folding his arms over his chest, and sunk down into the car seat. He wasn't going to verbally agree to Dean's request but his willingness to acknowledge Dean's words without fighting back was all that was needed for Dean to know his little brother had gotten the message.

A few minutes later Sam sighed and looked at Dean. He almost stopped breathing when he caught reflective specks on his brother's skin.

"Oh my god," Sam said, his voice low and disbelieving.

"What?" Dean glanced at Sam's brother who had begun to laugh.

"Okay dude, no, I promise, I swear I'm not trying to be a douche..."

Dean looked at his brother, confused.

"Man... you've got glitter on your face," Sam said, delighted, leaning forward and brushing Dean's cheek and showing him the run-off on his upturned palm. Dean looked at it and made a clicking sound with his mouth as he went back to watching the road.

"I thought I got it all out in the shower this morning," Dean muttered ruefully. Sam laughed harder.

"She looked like a fairy princess what can I say?" Dean joked.

"That now you look like one too," Sam replied happily.

Reluctantly, Dean had to smile. He ticked his head to Sam, willing to giving him that one.

* * *

They were heading out in the morning after a quiet night recovering in the motel room. The hunt was over: they'd killed the Rakshasa, otherwise known as the blind knife-throwing old guy slash evil clown.

Things were fine now. The sun was shining, blue skies, and a highway ramp that'd take them out of there and onto greener pastures.

But not without breakfast. Dean kept an eye out.

"Hey you want McDonalds?" Dean asked as they were coming up on it. Sam turned sharply to look at his brother, his lips a thin puckered line of annoyance. Dean glanced at him and started laughing.

"No, I don't want McDonalds, Dean," Sam said, his voice strained. Dean flicked the turn signal and started slowing down.

"You sure?" He dragged the last word out, teasing, and lifted his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"Dean!" Sam squeaked, his eyes no longer on his brother but rather on the magnificent plastic statue of Ronald McDonald in front. The car slowed to a crawl and Dean let his little brother get a good long look at it. _I'm such an asshole_, Dean thought, thoroughly entertained by the daunted expression on his brother's face. Sam swallowed nervously.

"No, man... C'mon, please?" Sam begged. Dean practically cackled as he hit the accelerator and the car drove on. Sam settled back into his seat and stared out the windshield. He took a few seconds to even out and then looked to his still-smiling brother.

"That was... not... nice, Dean" Sam reproached lamely.

* * *

**Writer's Note: **Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex. PS - oh my gosh I just realized I feature glitter at some point in both chapters. That's hilarious I have no idea why I find glitter so funny.


End file.
